


(just a) phan-boy

by nayt0reprince



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Canon Compliant, Family Drama, M/M, Past Abuse, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-20 08:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: Mishima’s got it bad for the transfer student with glasses. Of course, he doesn’t realize this until he’s on some date Akira had somehow lined up for him. (And even then, he's in complete, 100% denial.)





	1. devil's in the details

**Author's Note:**

> okay so like i just got to june in persona 5 so i ain’t know all the deets about the game or characters y’feel. but i just, needed to write this, bc holy shit? i am more than willing to captain the kurusu/mishima ship by myself, if i must. that said, this is gonna be in a couple of parts, and will be updated as soon as i get through like august in-game (so about a week from now). thank u for ur patience! and pls let me know what u think down below!

With a promising introduction in one mere text conversation in the phone clutched close to his chest and a subway ticket-stub from the two-hundred or so yen he shelled out to get there, Mishima stepped into the bright glitz and glamor of Shinjuku to meet his possible future-girlfriend for the first time. Despite what time it was and how dark the skies grew, the blinding lights made him squint as the district bustled with what could only be described as the “late-night” crowd. Girls - _so_ many girls with cut jean-shorts and spaghetti-strap tank-tops, holy _crap_ \- swayed their hips as their heels clacked against the sidewalk. Drunkards staggered with goofy grins and goofier speech while exasperated policemen watched on with their hands clasped behind their back. So _this_ was the world of adults, huh? Mishima swallowed hard, grip tightening on his sling-over bag’s strap, before venturing further. Hopefully, the bar wouldn’t be too far. God knew what would happen if he had to stay here for long. Smart thinking on changing out of his uniform before coming here, otherwise he’d stick out even more as a sore thumb than he already did.

_“Meet me at the Crossroads. I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.”_

Damn, how did Kurusu manage something like this? Ohya - even her name sounded nice - Ohya sounded promising, even if his friend didn’t reveal much details about her looks or personality. She _seemed_ to be the playful type, though. Giddiness riddled his skin with goosebumps as each step into Shinjuku’s clutches lead him closer and closer. What if she found him dull? What if she found him ugly? Does he smell? Did he remember to brush his teeth this morning? God, what if he made himself _and_ Kurusu look like immature, bratty high schoolers? How would he face him in class tomorrow if he screwed this up?

He stopped in front of the bar, mind reeling from the prospective failures looming in the recesses of his brain. No, enough of that. He had to brave. Otherwise, how could he ever call himself an admin for the Phantom Thieves? He reached out and grabbed the cold handle before pushing his shoulder into the heavy door to open it. Now or never. 

When the door closed behind him, the incessant chatter vanished into a slow, soft piano solo emanating from a vinyl-player. A purplish hue relaxed his eyes, though the permeating reek of alcohol didn’t soothe his nerves at all, nor did the neon, heart-shaped WELCOME sign that hung upon the wall. 

“Oh!” A boisterous voice caused his shoulders to raise. “Why, _hello_ there! You’ve got _quite_ the young face, don’t you? Come closer, closer, boy! What’ll it be tonight?”

The bartender’s hair and outfit (aside from the gold hems) matched the lights. That was some level of dedication, right there, but her overly-friendly demeanor set off alarm bells. He managed to get out an “um?” before taking a step back. Maybe he should go home, after all.

“Water,” said a patron slumped on a barstool at the counter. She takes a swig of her drink before grinning. “He’s with me. You’re from Shujin, yeah?” He managed to nod once before she continued, “Mind if we use the back room to talk a bit?”

Wait, _wait._ Mishima gawked, staring helplessly as the lady stood up. Sleek haircut adorned by shades, a hip graphic t-shirt, jeans, and a camera slung around her neck - Kurusu got Mishima a date with an _older_ woman? His tongue dried up. She looked to be in college, or a graduate. Maybe Kurusu misjudged Mishima’s level of charm. There’s no way he could pull this off. Still, he allowed himself to be dragged out back, where leather seats and a low table awaited them. She placed down the glass of water and gestured to one of the chairs.

“Go on, sit down.”

“Uh, right,” he stammered before taking a seat. He leaned his bag up against a table leg and grabbed the glass of water like a lifeline. If he swallowed wrong, he could choke to death before making a fool of himself. 

The lady, Ohya, leaned forward. She stared at him for a long moment (Mishima willed himself to stop sweating) before nodding and pursing her lips. “You’ll do. So, let’s get on with it, hm? Name’s Ohya, Ohya Ichiko. I’m a reporter. Nice to meet you.”

“Mishima,” he said, and to his credit, his voice didn’t crack as badly as he thought it would. “Mishima Yuuki. Second-year. Nice--nice to meet you, too.” He took a sip and watched her tap her forefinger against her chin. She’s hot, no denying that, but one-hundred _percent_ out of his league. How did Kurusu meet such people? And why was she taking out a notepad? Where did she even get it from?

“You look kinda pale.” She cocked her head to one side. “You gonna make it?”

He straightened his back and nodded enthusiastically. 

“Alright. If you say so. Now then, Mishima-kun.”

Her pen - did that just materialize out of nowhere? - rapped against the paper, as if she were deep in contemplation. She finally pulled off the cap and hummed a little.

“Where to start. Truth be told, it’s kinda old news, compared to all those scams going ‘round Shibuya and the rising popularity of the Phantom Thieves.” She scooched forward and shrugged. “Maybe I can make this part one of a series of stories. Ooh, like a lead-in into the scoop about them heart-stealers. _Brilliant,_ Ichiko.” She wrote something down and winked. “Man, this might get me somewhere _good,_ if I play my cards right, y’know?”

Mishima found himself confused - wasn’t this supposed to be a date and not, like, an interview or whatever this was turning out to be? - but intrigued. “You like the Phantom Thieves, too?”

“You kidding me?” She pointed at him with her pen. “My hunch tells me they’re gonna become something _big._ Of _course_ I like ‘em! They’re more interesting than anything _else_ that’s happened in the past couple of months. Them and those weird mental-shutdowns going ‘round. Don’t you think so, too?”

He relaxed a little. Maybe she wasn’t as intimidating as she seemed. “Well, yeah. They’re actually enacting justice where adults in power _won’t._ They’re heroes.”

She finished her drink with a wheeze and nodded. “Vigilantes doing good where most people would just turn the other cheek. That’s a good angle, very _cool._ That’s interesting wording, though. ‘Where adults won’t.’” She raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re kids? Maybe even high schoolers?”

Shit. Mishima forced a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “W-well, I… I don’t really know, but I just kind of assumed. Haha...”

Ohya scratched her head before making another thoughtful sound. “But that makes sense, given who their first target was. Like, who else would target a _teacher_ at such a specific school in the beginning? I’m sure there are bigger schools in Tokyo with faculty much, _much_ more skeevy than that pervert. So their first target must’ve been directly affecting them, making them want to make a difference, maybe. That would also explain the first shoddy-quality calling card. Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

Mishima needed to change the subject, and fast. He balled his hands into fists as she scribbled something down. “Not to interrupt, Ohya-san--”

“Mm, call me Ichiko, at least.” She waved her hand dismissively and didn’t even look up from her notes. “‘Ohya-san’ makes me feel old.”

“Uh, Ichiko.” So personal. He shook his head. Focus, focus! He didn’t mean to get so carried away. “Didn’t you want to meet for _other_ reasons?”

“Other reasons,” she echoed, eyes fixated on her own handwriting. She bit her thumbnail in thought before snapping her fingers. “Oh, _right!_ My scoop. Yeah, yeah, sorry. I can’t just get ahead of myself before I even begin. Ahem.” She smiled and nodded, folding her arms in her lap expectantly. “So, our mutual acquaintance - Kurusu-kun, I believe? - told me that you experienced some _rough_ times before Kamoshida’s ‘change of heart.’”

Mishima blinked. Where was this going? “You could say that…”

“Lemme get to the point - I’m gonna write this piece to illuminate some of the abuses that occurred at your school before the Phantom Thieves took him down. Don’t be alarmed, I won’t be using your real name when this gets published.”

 _What?_ Kurusu set him up with a journalist to talk about _that,_ and _not_ a date? While part of him felt relieved - at least he didn’t have to worry about embarrassing himself anymore - another part of him wondered why Kurusu failed to mention that. Ohya waited for a moment, tilting her head to the other side, before speaking again.

“You _did_ know that’s why you’re here, right? Kurusu-kun and I made an information-exchange deal. He was snooping into some shady business, and I got him a huge lead - in exchange for your story, of course.”

Snooping? Did Kurusu find a new target? Mishima looked down at his feet. Maybe he was really desperate and this woman was the only lead to bring about more justice. If it’s for the cause, then giving her what she wanted was the least he could do after everything he’s done. He bit his bottom lip. “Right,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “Right. Okay. What do you want to know?”

Her questions didn’t pull back any punches. She wanted _details,_ a play-by-play of a horrific chapter in Mishima’s life that he’d rather forget. _What did Kamoshida’s office look like?_ (Frightening. The _normalcy_ behind the stacked paperwork, the trophies behind glass cases, the ball tucked beside some unwatered plant. How warm sunlight filtered between the slats of the blinds, illuminated dust particles floating in the air that stirred when Kamoshida raised his hand. “Clean, like everyone else’s.”) _Did he call you there often?_ (His condescending tone made Mishima shrink every time he spat out a syllable like venom, _Mi-shi-ma._ The tone where you _knew_ you failed to meet his ungodly expectations. The tone where you _knew_ you’d have to wear long-sleeves for two weeks just to stop the questions back home. “Yes.”) _Did he hurt you?_ (Malicious chuckling accompanied greedy hands, ready to paint black upon blue on Mishima’s pale skin. If he was lucky, it’d last all of ten minutes. If he _really_ screwed up, he would end up limping back home, his own nails digging into his arm, praying the memories, the _scent,_ his _words,_ would just go _away_ \--“Sometimes.”) _How were practices? What did he make you do? How many others? How long did this go for?_ (On, and on, and on, never-ending, a personal hell. He should have left. He could have left. But he didn’t want to see the disappointment on his parents’ faces. God forbid he ditched the acclaimed _volleyball team_ that went to _nationals._ Think of all the prospective colleges he’d lose the opportunity to go to! The pain was _worth_ it. No pain, no gain. On, and on, and on, forever, and ever, and ever, but _God,_ he grew so _tired,_ and he hated, he _loathed,_ he wanted somebody to speak _up,_ wanted _vengeance--_ ) _Did you tell anyone?_ (But he was a coward. What could one protesting whisper do to a jubilant, screaming crowd?)

The pen’s scratches stopped, and Mishima, who didn’t even realize how bad he was shaking, glanced up. Ohya chewed on the cap, eyes softening a little. 

“Let’s talk about something else for a little while, okay? But first, let’s get you another glass of water. _Ooh,_ and maybe some chicken wings. You like chicken wings, right? Or maybe fries? I feel like splurging on American stuff tonight. Hold on a sec.”

She got up and headed towards the bar, leaving Mishima to his thoughts. Speaking about Kamoshida and remembering made him feel worse than he expected. He sucked in a sharp breath and willed himself to calm down. He could handle this. Kamoshida’s in jail now, with a changed heart, and wouldn’t lay another finger on him. Ohya came back a few moments later juggling a plate of thick fries, a glass of water, and some bronze-colored booze in another.

“Here we go.” She sat across from him and plucked up a fry. “This is the good stuff. Owner here don’t look like much, but she’s a mean cook, through and through. Y’gotta at least have one.”

Mishima managed a nod and forced himself to chew on one. Salty. But not bad.

“So you’re a fan of the Phantom Thieves too, eh?”

That was putting it lightly. He devoted an entire website, a _network_ of intel, just for them. But he put on a small smile. “Yes, you could say that. They really saved me - not just me, but the whole volleyball team. Without them, I would’ve lost . . . well, everything. He threatened to expel me and my friends, just because we confronted him.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You confronted your own abuser?”

He winced. “It’s not as cool as it sounds, haha. Kurusu--Kurusu-san really inspired me to go with him to the faculty office, along with another student. They were really ticked-off about how Kamoshida treated the team.”

She hummed, scribbling something down. Mishima continued,

“Kurusu-san looked really cool, though. Like, his eyes got all narrowed, and he’s usually so quiet at school, you know? But he looks like he’s always three steps ahead. He makes--he _would_ make an excellent leader, taking on a teacher like that. He didn’t even _blink_ when Kamoshida threatened to expel him.” He sighed. “He’s just as cool as the Phantom Thieves.” _Because he is part of them. I’m sure of it. I_ know _it. Someone as awesome as him can’t_ not _be._

“Wow,” Ohya said, and then downed her drink in one go. “That’s some praise. Wish someone got a look in their eyes like yours when they talked about me, that’s for sure.” She laughed and gestured vaguely. “If I didn’t know any better, sounds like you gotta lil _crush_ on our mutual friend.”

Mishima rose to his feet quickly, knees banging against the table. The water dribbled down the side of the glass. “That’s _not_ it. I just, you know. He’s just.” When did it get so warm in here? He tugged at his collar. “A-anyways, is this enough for your story? I’m tired, and my parents are waiting back home.” A lie; they would probably be dozing by now. It would take three days or so before they realized he was missing, should he ever get murdered.

“Yeah, this is definitely enough. Kept you here much longer than I thought I would - can’t believe it’s almost ten already.” She yawned and flipped through the pages of her notes. “Thanks for telling me your story. You did good, holding up on Kurusu-kun’s end of the deal. And not to worry - I’ll make sure that your name won’t have any attachment to the story. Completely anonymous.”

He wasn’t really listening anymore. In fact, the city’s noise all around him became all but white noise as he shuffled to the train after parting with the reporter, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. A strange lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. His clammy hands almost slipped off the overhead handrail as the train lurched forward. Ohya’s words teased a myriad of reactions out of him - mostly shock, but also horror. Why would she say something like that? And why was he so damn _nervous_ all of a sudden?

Ridiculous. He liked girls, just like any other high school guy living the life in Tokyo. Of course, his terrible luck proved to hinder him in his efforts to get a girlfriend, and besides, lately, he doesn’t really have the _time_ for it, managing the site and all, and… Excuse upon excuse battered Ohya’s words into a corner, burying some unfamiliar feelings that tingled along his veins, peppering his cheeks with red splotches.

 _Ridiculous!_ Out of left field, and completely kind of sort of untrue maybe! He almost tripped as the train arrived at his stop. Absolutely _no way._ If he had a crush, he’d stay up all night thinking about them instead of sleeping. So obviously, since he thought about what he could to do help the Phantom Thieves get out there, he clearly did _not_ have a crush on _Kurusu._ His _classmate,_ of all people. Even if he did have cool hair and sleek glasses and a cocky, aloof smirk that begged for someone to come and _try_ to stop him.

Nothing to worry about at _all._ His tastes in cute girls remained in-tact.

He laughed to himself when he arrived home. A crush, sure. Impossible. He kicked off his shoes and hurried to his room, where his laptop - where his website - awaited him. Totally baseless. He slumped onto his futon and piled the blankets against the wall to support his back before jumping when he felt his phone buzz.

A text. From Kurusu, no less. He almost never instigates conversations. 

_“How’d it go?”_

Mishima stared at the screen until it became black, hand shaking. Haha. No way. His thumb hovered over the unlock button, a burning urgency shouting at him to text back, to not be _rude,_ but he instead threw the phone across the room with a horrified shriek. Oh, no. He grabbed a pillow and buried his burning face into it, eyes wide with realization.

Oh, _crap._


	2. (miss)fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy petunias on rye so when i started writing this i was like “haha there’s no way this is gonna get any attention oh well” and then everyone and their ma comes on out of the woodwork with the comments and kudos. can i just take a moment and say thanks?? bc i’m so used to radio silence that getting so much attention literally made me like, cry. silly, right?? lol. thank y’all so diddly-dang much, i just, i’m so moved and super-duper motivated to do my best aaaa;;; but anyways here’s “mishima’s gay awakening part two: electric boogaloo,” pls enjoy and tell me what u think!

His protective blanket-cave, surrounded by emptied chip-bags and soda bottles, did little against the sudden morning sun onslaught instigated by his irked mother pulling open his window’s curtains. He whined and fell onto his side, cradling the now-closed laptop in his arms in futile protest. His mom rolled her eyes before yanking the blankets aside.

“Did you pull _another_ all-nighter, Yuuki?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the traces of Mishima’s snack-horde. “For goodness sake, child, can you at least _pretend_ you still have dignity? It’s past ten already! Hurry up and get ready, we have to go grocery shopping before your father gets home. Make sure to wash your face, too. I can’t believe how much of a slob you can be.” She shook her head and sighed. “Oh, a package arrived for you in the mail earlier. Are you using your allowance to buy more video games? Just please promise me to focus on your studies a _little_ , all right? Come down when you’re cleaned up.”

She slid the door shut behind her, and Mishima, with a disheartened groan, forced his head off the pillow to squint at the floor. The late-night binge-carnage laid bare in the light, with crumb-specks poking their heads out of the carpet. His eyes settled on the discarded cell phone near his closet door and winced. In his desperate attempt to pretend everything was fine, he distracted himself by watching three seasons of anime, one thirty-two part Let’s Play, and then scoured social media for the latest memes and potential crime-doers. Somewhere along the way, he somehow ended up reading about potato aphids on Wikipedia while seeing if it was true that if you clicked on the first blue word in every article, it would eventually lead you to the “psychology” page. His mother just interrupted the part where the article vividly described something about how ovipositing eggs in certain ways determined an aphid’s gender. Maybe it was a good thing she came to get him out of bed, after all.

Kurusu’s text message remained unanswered. It lingered on the Home screen, taunting Mishima, beckoning him to type out something stupid for a response. He scowled at it for a moment before sticking the neglected phone in his pocket. For now, he was gonna ignore it. Kurusu’s ignored him before (actually, Mishima knew it was because Kurusu was super busy, but the point still stood kinda not really), so it was okay to put it off for a little longer. He pulled on a clean t-shirt and trudged to the bathroom. Shopping would be a great distraction from this crap, but so would sleeping for ten hours or ten years. Cold water dripped down his face as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“Come on, man.” He slapped his own cheeks. “Get a hold of yourself. It’s not what you think it is. You’re just, like, tired. Exams are soon, and you manage the best website ever. Just calm down, and it’ll go away. No biggie. No problem.”

“ _Yuuki,”_ his mother called from downstairs impatiently. Mishima dried off his face quickly before stumbling down the stairs in a hurry - the last thing he wanted to do was piss her off and get all his spending money revoked for two weeks. (A disaster, given how the much-anticipated FiaR: Manualis was supposed to come out soon. God forbid he didn’t get his hands on it as soon as possible. If he lost his gamer-cred, then what else did he have, really?

_Don’t forget who made you less of a zero than you are, Mi-shi-ma,_ Kamoshida cajoled, and the distant memory of a new bruise or a bending bone followed with a _slap_.)

“Yuuki?”

“Yeah, sorry. Be right with you in a sec.” He finished tying his shoes and stumbled out the door to follow her.

( _Then again,_ Kamoshida continued, and Mishima jerked his head, fixating on his mother’s back, hoping the voice would just go away, _even if you multiply greatness by zero, the end-result is still a big-whopping nothing. Guess you really_ are _hopeless.)_

“That’s not true anymore,” he mumbled, and managed to feign a laugh when his mother looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t true. He changed in the past couple of months, all thanks to Ku--he stopped his train of thought and sighed while his ears burned.

Enough of that. He had a mom to convince to get some crepes during their trip.

*

Grocery shopping with mom never actually meant _just_ grocery shopping, as little impatient five-year-old Mishima learned all those years ago. No no. It _really_ meant walking up and down the lengths of Shibuya for three or more hours, gawking at all the deals and clothes and lord knew what _else_ displayed in storefronts, only for his mother to convince herself out of purchasing anything at the very last minute. She hated going alone since she talked to herself a _lot,_ so she dragged a reluctant Mishima every Sunday morning on her adventures just to look a _little_ normal. Today proved no different; she clasped her hands together and _ooh’d_ and _ah’d_ at some Harajuku-esque dress on-sale, a far-off, dreamy look in her eyes. Oh boy. Compared to her usual lecturing and nagging-mom demeanor, she acted like a poor high school girl whenever she saw something she wanted. 

“Oh, your father would be _so_ displeased if I got another dress I’ll never wear,” she sighed, patting her hand against her cheek. She pouted. “If only you had a sister. Please promise me when you have children to have a granddaughter, okay?”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Sure, because I have complete control of that.” When she glared, he averted his eyes. “Uh, I’ll do my best? And I’ll make sure my future-wife eats loads of vegetables or something.”

“You’d have to get a girlfriend first,” she replied, and the _dismay_ in her voice upon that revelation stung at Mishima’s ego. He puffed out his cheeks in protest.

“I’ve dated once before!”

“When you were twelve, sweet child of mine. And for all of a month. Oh, why couldn’t you have stayed in sports? It’s just my luck for you to have enrolled in _that_ place. So many scandals. How are you ever supposed to make yourself stand out positively now?”

Yeah, yeah. He was the epitome of boring, the picture-perfect definition of average in each dictionary, the poster-child for what it meant to have a meaningless existence. He _knew_ already. His mother dabbed at her eyes, as if tear-stricken by her son’s incompetence, before ogling at a few hats. Mishima slumped a little and stared longingly at the crepe stand nearby. At this point, only sweets could truly understand his pain. (And solve his problems with delectable chocolate goodness. So long as it wasn’t dark chocolate, though. Ew, ew ew.)

His yearning gaze halted upon spotting blonde pigtails amongst the sea of black and brown. He did a double-take - oh, Takamaki, he’d seen her around Shibuya frequently - before seeing her company. His eyes widened as he sucked in a sharp breath. Of course. Of _course_ he’s got literally the worst luck second to probably Sakamoto.

Kurusu, sporting casual wear, one hand in his pocket as his other twirled some locks of fluffy hair, stood right _there_ where it would be _inevitable_ for him to see Mishima.

He’s not ready. All his mental preparation to send a text back _alone_ couldn’t grant him any salvation. Guilt festered in his gut as he turned away, hand brought up to his lips. What is _wrong_ with him? He shook his head. This is dumb, it’s just his friend. That stupid woman just gave him some stupid ideas. _It’s not a crush,_ he told himself, _just embarrassment. He doesn’t even know. Just play it cool._

“Mishima?”

He squeaked and almost jumped in place, shoulders raised in some lackluster defensive countermeasures. He whipped around to see Kurusu, brow furrowed in thought, pulling back his hand. He tilted his head to one side, thoughtful, before nodding. “Mishima.”

_What, even though we’ve been classmates for months now, you still can’t recognize me from behind?_ His bruised pride wavered with disappointment. “Oh, hi there, Kurusu. Didn’t, uh, see you there.” Wow, he sucked at lying. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Be natural. “So, what’s up? Hanging out with Takamaki-san today?” She was _buying crepes._ Not just any crepes, either; the _double-chocolate_ ones. He tried not to huff out of envy.

“We just got out from watching a movie, yeah.” Kurusu’s eyes crinkled behind his glasses. “It was a pretty good romance film. Not really my kind of thing, though. She--” he gestured to Takamaki, who now hurried over with two treats in hand, “--really enjoyed it. Even went through three packs of tissues.”

Well, at least he didn’t seem angry that he never got a text back. He tried to not feel so relieved. “So, are you two,” Mishima drowned a dull prickling sensation in his stomach with a conspiratorial grin, “on a _date?_ ”

Before Kurusu could answer, Takamaki trotted over, infectious smile from ear-to-ear on her face. “Guess who saved five hundred yen by using her coupon? Here you go.” She handed the crepe to Kurusu before blinking. “Hey! Shopping with mom again? She’s so nice. Tell her thanks for me for the shopping tips. I totally went splurging last weekend ‘cause of it. But hey,” she twisted her body a little, knee-length floral skirt flaring up slightly, “it’s cute, don’t you think?”

“Sure is.” Cute was one way to call it. On anyone else, it’d look gaudy, but Takamaki somehow pulled it off. “I’ll tell mom, once she’s done, you know.” He glanced at his mother, who now chattered away with old lady Mrs. Sato. He shuffled a little closer and lowered his voice. “Do you think you two could spot me some money to get one of those?” He gave a pointed glare to Kurusu. “Especially after what you set me up with? That wasn’t a date, that was an _interrogation._ And a _drunken_ one, at that. She wanted details on,” he ground his teeth, “Kamoshida, and obviously the Phantom Thieves, too. Don’t worry, I didn’t spill anything about you guys specifically, but man. A little forewarning would’ve been nice.”

“You have a point.” Kurusu cracked a grin and lightly rapped a fist on Mishima’s shoulder. The contact singed right through Mishima’s t-shirt. “I do owe you one for that. Without it, we wouldn’t have gone very far with our next target.”

“So _that’s_ what you did for intel. Good thinking.” Takamaki took a large bite from her snack. Was she allowed to do that? Wasn’t she a model?

Kurusu rummaged through his leather wallet and discreetly handed Mishima some money. “Thanks again,” he whispered, accompanied by a wink. That jerk. He totally set Mishima up on purpose. And that lady dared to say Mishima _liked_ such a (albeit cool) jerk. He pocketed the money - he’d get his reward later - and nodded.

“You’re welcome. Oh, and uh--”

“Yuuki?” His mother interrupted his train of thought. “Are you ready to go?”

“Welp.” He shrugged. Inquiries on the forum requests could wait. “Guess that’s my cue. See you two later.” He waved and hurried to her side, subconsciously rubbing at the shoulder Kurusu touched. He glanced back to see Takamaki and Kurusu chatting about something as they headed towards Shibuya Station, vanishing among the crowd. Once they were a safe enough distance away, he let out a huge sigh, adrenaline finally simmering down. He did it. He survived a conversation with Kurusu and _didn’t_ make a complete idiot of himself. Mission success. His mother gave him a look.

“Your friends look nice,” she said while pulling out her grocery list. “What a cute couple.”

“Yeah,” Mishima muttered, balling his hands into loose fists, “cute.”

*

Google search: kamoshida suguru investigation

Google search: how to limit comments character count coding

Google search: news tokyo

URL: phan-site . jpn

“Are the Phantom Thieves _just?":_ 15.5% YES

Google search: how to look up anonymous IPs

Personal e-mail check: 3 new messages [deleted]

Phan-Site e-mail check: 42 new messages

Google search: symptoms of a ctuch

(Did you mean: _crush?_ )

Google search: how do you know if you like someone

URL: imsgr . jpn/chat/room2C

> _mishimishi00 has entered the chatroom._

mishimishi00: guys help

moonslayer658: oh get rekt noob lol

moonslayer658: eyyyyy its mishi sup 

mishimishi00: i messed up 

avd: hey i didnt say u all could just up and jack my shit like that u fucker

kikikikia: My City Now

moonslayer658: wut u did now lmaoooo

avd: hello??? u aint done shit and u think u can take cred??

avd: ohhi mishmash. program gon wrong again

mishimishi00: how do u stop havign feelings

kikikikia: listen binch i slaved my ass off last time and you straight up lifted code from my program so i thought it was time u repaid the favor [img attach.: gitgud.png]

moonslayer658: r u ok mm

mishimishi00: programs fine now but no haha i think i like sm1

avd: are u fuckin kidding me rn

avd: WAIT HOLD UP MY BOY GOT FEELS???

mishimishi00: but its wreid and idk for sure 

avd: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!1! LMAOOO

kikikikia: omfg

moonslayer658: hes been infected. quarantine him.

Google search: do I like my friend more than a friend

avd: o shuttup kia ur dead to me

mishimishi00: internets not helping google gods have failed me pls ur my only hopes

avd: if u keep stealing my code ill sic the p-thieves on u

avd: dude u know my stance on love. just set them on fire and it wont be a problem no more lolllll

kikikikia: oh ya bc the phantom thieves of hearts sure give s ingle flying fuck about this

moonslayer658: wait i know. u know that lady in the rld who gives those like ‘absolute’ readings or whatever with thos tarot cards

moonslayer658: mite be a longshot but u could consult her for advice since we all suck at this LMAO

avd: ill put a request in the forum u fucker just u watch

avd: oh that lady? yea she’s suposed to be rly gud my mum swears by her

avd: costs like 5k yen for a reading or smthg

kikikikia: fucking try me my ass is all the way in fureno and theyre all in tokyo

kikikikia: speaking of the phan thieves didnt they just take down that restrant arsen bs you all had to deal with?? saw it on the news.

Google search: tarot card readings shinjuku

mishimishi00: i dont really believe in that stuff but it doesnt hurt to try i guess. whatre her hours? also yeah phantom thieves wiped those guys off the map roflmao

moonslayer658: late oclock? LOL 

avd: aaaaand posted

avd: ur bout to face the wrath of justice kia

moonslayer658: lessgo p thieves!! i’d just try anytime after like 10 just to b safe

kikikikia: fuck off m8 [img attach.: canttouchthis.gif]

kikikikia: gud luck mi-mi

avd: fuck you

avd: yeah make sure to give us updates once u kno for sure! i wanna kno all bout her

moonslayer658: why so u can steal his gf like a perv u are

avd: that was literally only one time and i was 13 pls chill out with that shit

kikikikia: [img attach.: uareascumlord.gif]

mishimishi00: thanks guys

mishimishi00: ill keep u posted. hopefully its just a fluke

avd: why am i friends with all of u again

kikikikia: answer: we’re not

Google search: tokyo subway schedule

URL: phan-site . jpn

>New post pinned: Arson Suspects Apprehended! [JULY 3RD]

“Anon: they really did it!!”

“Anon: took them long enough”

“Anon: Admin please clean out request forum too cluttered w shitposting”

URL: phan-site . jpn /mod/3jsp5.html

>New post pinned: Request Forum (Please Read Instructions) [Updated 7/3]

Google search: tokyo crime news

Browser settings -> clear cache (yes)

Browser settings -> clear cookies (yes)

Browser settings -> clear history (all time) (yes)

Sleep Mode [Update Restart Scheduled: 2AM]

*

With roughly seven thousand yen he pooled together in his pocket, Mishima found himself back in Shinjuku on some half-assed suggestion from his Internet friends. Ducking the piqued glances of the police proved to be harder on a Sunday night; they were looking for slacking high schoolers trying to sneak into the infamous Red Light District to wash down their exam-induced sorrows with some booze. Blending in was always his strong-point, though. He squeezed through the thick crowds and brushed past the drunk herds standing in front of bar-fronts smoking away at their cigarettes. Vomit, car exhaust, and - and _something_ sweet yet bitter (cigars?) mingled together to create a scent that could only be described as “Shinjuku’s Nightlife.” He certainly didn’t miss it from last time.

As he rounded the corner onto some narrow side-street, he caught sight of a small sign propped upon a draping tablecloth: “FORTUNES TOLD HERE.” A vacant chair sat across from a peculiar woman, who shuffled her cards with distant, almost unnaturally-colored eyes. Mishima straightened his back and steeled his resolve - sure, this sounded stupid, but his lackluster confidence needed some reaffirmation that he _wasn’t_ losing his marbles. He sighed and, after a brief moment of hesitation, approached her.

“Well, hello.” She looked up and pursed her lips. “You’re here for a reading, aren't you? Is this your first time? I do not think I’ve seen your face before.”

He sat down in the chair, though he couldn’t help but fidget in it. “Yes, and, uh, yes. First time. It's nice to meet you.”

“Relax, relax. There's no need to be so formal, and nothing to fret about. We all have our firsts.” Her mysterious, gentle smile washed away his nerves in one fell swoop. She had this trusting aura, yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. “You look like you’ve already got something specific in mind. But, before we start anything, tell me - what is your name?”

“Mishima.” He wiped his palms on his pants. “Mishima Yuuki.”

She closed her eyes, forefinger pressed against her temple, before her soft expression soured. “You have quite the unlucky star chained to you, don’t you, Mishima-san? It stands to reason that it will affect you quite a bit throughout the rest of your life.” She settled the deck of cards off to one side. “But perhaps what’s troubling you will evade such misfortune. So what will it be today? You look like a high schooler, so maybe your school life? Academics, possible friendships? Or perhaps,” her smile sweetened, “love?”

Mishima felt himself turn red. She tittered.

“Oh, to be young!” She nodded. Wait, how old was she, then? She didn’t look much older than himself. “To do such a reading, it will cost five-thousand yen. Is this acceptable?”

He pulled the wrinkled bills out of his pocket and looked away. Man, to think he would go to such lengths to convince himself about his own preferences. Wait, could she read thoughts, too? Alarmed, he snuck a look at her, but she seemed focused on reshuffling her deck. Maybe not. Thank God.

“Very well. I, Chihaya Mifune, will begin our session. Let’s do a simple glimpse into the future for your romantic prospects, shall we? Oh, divine powers, let us see what fate has in store for Mishima-san and his future partner.”

Time seemed to pass slowly as the cards were spread out, one by one. As she flipped them over, her charm gave way to a perturbed expression that did not help Mishima’s nerves literally at all. The pictures on the cards didn’t tell _him_ anything, but she seemed completely concerned. She turned over the last card, frowned, and then fiddled with her headband while leaning back into her chair. What’s with that look?

“Yes, I’ve seen everything. The divine powers has revealed all to me. But I must say, this isn’t looking great.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leaned a little to the left, propping her chin upon her hands. Her gaze flitted from one card to the next while she chewed her bottom lip, as though she didn’t know where to begin to tell him that everything in his life would go to hell relatively soon. Part of him wanted to get up and abandon the whole thing, but his interest shackled him to his chair, bound to be killed by curiosity like cats. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again with a sympathetic voice.

“As it stands, you’re not actually confused at all about your own feelings. You’re in denial, or you’re actively ignoring it for _some_ reason or another. And with that denial comes a lot of… hardship. This card,” she gestured to a card depicting someone wandering off a cliff, “represents someone you know, someone close to you, and they are undoubtedly the object of your affections. You are going to have great trouble accepting how you feel. But this person has no clue at this time, and never will.”

Mishima’s stomach dropped. Denial? _Never?_ His worst fears began to blossom as she continued,

“Sure, your feelings will grow intense as time passes. But,” she added, leaning forward, “for the worse. Unrequited, all in all. You will never develop enough courage in time, since you are so strong in your convictions that your delusion of who you _think_ you are prevents you from taking necessary actions. You’ll continue this for quite some time until you come to accept your feelings. But, by the time you _do,_ the one you are destined to love…” Her eyes drooped, and for a moment, Mishima swore she shrunk by three centimeters all around. “...is fated to die before year’s end. From disease, from an accident, I cannot tell. But the truth remains that this love is, frankly put, _doomed.”_

(Kamoshida called him in again, after practice. Rain pattered against the window in droves, muffling the sounds of schoolmates wandering about in the hallways. He slid the door shut, and stood perfectly still. Everything hurt; the unrelenting drills the team underwent covered Mishima’s knees in scabs. Maybe if he didn’t make a sound, Kamoshida would forget about him entirely. Maybe if he stopped breathing, he could be swallowed up by the ground, dragged ten meters under, and no one would have expectations for him ever again. The fan rotated slowly, back and forth, back and forth, as Kamoshida typed away at his laptop. His expression appeared calm, neutral. The overhead clock ticked past three.

Finally, Kamoshida stretched, joints popping from the motion. He rolled one shoulder, then the other, before reaching down near his feet for something. Mishima had a mere moment to blink before feeling a ball connect to his face, knocking him back against the wall.

“Stop staring at me. I have to finish this important e-mail, and you _gawking_ is _not_ helpful.”

The ball rolled to the foot of Kamoshida’s desk. Mishima winced, and refused to cry in front of that bastard. He wouldn’t, not this time. Not _this_ time. His breathing hitched as he looked to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

The typing abruptly stopped.

“Did I _say_ you could speak?”

Shit. Bad, this was bad, and his flight-instincts kicked in, but Kamoshida was already moving, already _slamming_ the laptop lid shut, with flared nostrils and bulging veins and the corners of his lips furling. Mishima’s jersey stretched, _tore,_ shit, there went another couple thousand yen to replace his uniform, another week’s of allowance down the drain for this _fucking bastard,_ and he’s on the floor now, wheezing. He couldn’t breathe. Where did all the oxygen go? Kamoshida unclenched his fist.

“Wow, look at you.” His scowl shifted into a malicious grin. “Crying again, Mishima? No wonder why you don’t have any friends.”

He knelt down and plucked Mishima’s head up by his hair. Stop, stop _touching_ him, he’s done, he’s had enough, he’s _tired._

“I guess losers like you are just _doomed_ to be alone, huh?”)

“Sir?”

The memory crumpled like scrapped notes tossed aside from a frustrated student, leaving Mishima standing before the rinky-dink table and eight cards in a circle telling him nothing ever goes right for nobodies. The fortune teller peered up at him, watching him like he was some kind of dangerous animal. It almost made him want to laugh. Him, dangerous. If only she knew.

“Your fortunes,” he replied, picking up one of the cards. “How accurate are they?”

She grabbed the card out of his hand and settled it back onto the table. “They are,” she answered, averting her eyes, “absolute.”

Right. Haha. He resisted just walking away, because he needed to confirm it for himself. “And there’s really nothing I can do to change it?”

She nodded. Then stopped. “Well, perhaps... one of my Holy Stones could be of use for you. They might provide guidance and healing, as well as a means to fight fate back, so long as you keep it charged by placing it in moonlight every three days. That said, they _do_ cost about one hundred thousand yen… To prevent future disasters, I would highly suggest for you to purchase one. It’s evident that your loved one is in extreme danger.”

_There_ it was. He almost laughed, tension ebbing away at her blubbering nonsense. She was a con artist, through and through. Good thing he wasn’t as dumb as his mediocre grades reflected. 

“I need to think about it,” he said. For a moment there, he almost actually considered _believing_ her. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone with a feigned look of confusion on his face. “Oh, welp, sorry, that’s my mom texting me to come home. This was, uh, very enlightening. Thanks.” _For wasting five thousand of my yen._ “See you next time.” _Or never again, actually._

She didn’t even try to stop him as he scooped up his bag and walked away (but she still wore that faux-pity on her face quite well. For an actress, she sure could fool the best of them. “Be careful not to trip on your way back. Toes do not like to be stubbed.”). At least now he knew better than to listen to such crap. The whole train ride home, he felt like an idiot. Why was he wasting time with this when he should be moderating his website and relaying information to the Phantom Thieves? He allowed this to bother him for long enough. No more. Enough.

Putting the experience behind him, he decided to act more _useful_ by increasing their popularity. First thing’s first, though - he needed to get those dumb trolls off his site. Then, he would look into a few possible cases and determine what would be best to get noticed quicker. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Where would Kurusu and the Phantom Thieves be without him? That poll number needed to go up in percentage. For the sake of justice, of course.

He arrived home brimming with inspiration and newfound enthusiasm, a lofty goal of becoming _famous_ dancing in the forefront of his mind. Unlucky? So what? Tell him something he didn’t know. If he was screwed in the love department, then he’d just find something _else_ to be invested in. Just like user avd said: just set those feelings on fire and be done with it. More important matters needed his attention. Besides, reflecting back on the whole ordeal, it really was just his embarrassment and fears getting the best of him. Maybe he should put a request on the forum himself for the Phantom Thieves to change her scamming heart, willing to pull on her customers’ heartstrings like that for large sums of money. Later, though. She wasn’t a big enough target to net the prize he was looking for.

“Fortune-teller, shmortune-teller,” he muttered as he hurried upstairs. 

He barely even noticed that he tripped over his own feet on his way back to his room until his big toe throbbed from banging it against the top step too hard.


	3. waxing crescent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who finally finished mishi-mishi’s confidant lmaoooo he is some kinda interesting ain’t he. kinda selfish. still love him all the same tho bc i have piss-poor taste. that said, a HUGE thanks to all y’all for the comments and kudos! you are keeping me motivated whereas the actual yknow writing part itself is presently attempting to bludgeon me to death with six or so thesauruses while chanting “become as gods” so yeah. but anyways you’re not here for the writer’s notes so let us continue with whatever this monstrosity is becoming. tell me what u think below!! and enjoy!!

Mishima arrived twenty minutes early to class on Monday with books in tow, homework completed, and half-full energy drink can. He rubbed at his eyes after sitting down, his late-night catching up to him. Even with all the increasing positivity bubbling throughout the Phan-Site’s forums, the poor-taste shitposting continued to overwhelm the support. He cleansed and scrubbed and scraped each sub-forum clean for roughly three hours last night, only for his hard work to be dismissed with a simple copy-pasta of the Bee Movie script (in English) to pop up on the Request section. He deleted it, but it still soured his mood; his brow furrowed as he downed the rest of his drink. Maybe he needed another admin. But he couldn’t risk it, not with the identities of the Phantom Thieves being on the line. He sighed and banged his head off the desk. Maybe he needed a new course of action.

A distinct mewl and the classroom door sliding open caught his attention. Mishima glanced up, and Kurusu shuffled into class with an unassuming expression on his face. Their eyes never met as he went to his seat; Mishima tried to ignore the slight sting in his chest by wondering how the hell Kurusu managed to sneak a freaking _cat_ into class _every day._ The teachers had to notice by now, right? Takamaki arrived a few moments afterward while texting. Kurusu waved to her, and she waved back, her eyes brightening as she approached him with a smile.

It didn’t take a genius to see how smitten she appeared.

Mishima crushed his energy drink can with a little more excessive force than necessary.

He looked away as soon as Ms. Kawakami strode in. Her perpetual scowl seemed worse than normal - maybe the on-and-off heatwaves began to drive her nuts like everyone else. If she caught him with his phone to browse the Phan-Site, he might end up with a much more severe punishment than normal. But still. He turned a little towards the back of the class while biting his lower lip. Still, he needed to find _something_ for the Phantom Thieves. He needed to stay relevant. He needed to be _useful._

If he slacked-off, then Kurusu wouldn’t have a reason to speak with him anymore.

He balanced his phone on his thigh before pretending to take notes. Yeah, yeah, something something mathematics, how to find a slope, yadda yadda. His right hand went on auto-pilot as he wrote irrelevant and miscellaneous kanji while his left hand tapped the screen. Anything. At this point, it could be _anything_ to help the Phantom Thieves (and himself) get the attention they deserve. 

**Request Forum**

Latest Topics:

My Dog is missing ):

Bullies Won’t Back Off

Get a FREE iPod! Click NOW!

Ugh I hate that new actor guy everyone’s been talking about he’s such a dick

Bingo. Mishima glanced up at the teacher and nodded along for a moment while waiting for the post to load. If this actor had any credibility or fame _and_ turned out to be a total douchebag, the Phantom Thieves’s popularity would _skyrocket._ All thanks to _him._ Giddiness made him crack a smile; he was gonna land a _big_ one. 

“What’s so funny, hm? Care to share with the class?”

Shame splashed his face pink. He jerked to sit up straight, tongue dry as all eyes shifted to him. He stood up and hit the desk with a knee to mute the sound of his phone slipping into the shelf. Ms. Kawakami raised an annoyed eyebrow.

“Um,” he blubbered. A couple of classmates behind him snickered. (Oh, shut _up,_ Kishimoto, it’s not like _you_ would fare much better. And same to you, Hirata - your test scores are so low that they had to make new numbers just to evaluate your stupidity. How come _morons_ like them were still allowed to get away with this? They’re just like those _idiots_ online.)

“Well?” Ms. Kawakami gestured to the chalkboard. A square root hung over a negative one. “What _do_ you call this phenomenon in the math-world, Mishima-kun?”

He’s seen that before somewhere. His brain ransacked every drawer of stored nonsense-facts before spitting out, “A-an imaginary number?”

She gave a low whistle before making her signature “OK” sign. “Right you are. This number technically doesn’t exist, much like your chances of me not noticing you texting in the middle of class. Phone, please. You can pick it up after we’re done for the day.”

Dammit. More classmates “ooh’d” at his piss-poor luck as he handed her the phone with a sheepish smile. He sat back down with a disheartened sigh before frowning at the clock. Seven hours. Just seven more hours until he could get out of there and do more research. For now, though, he would have to settle for daydreaming about the day where everybody and their mother talked about the Phantom Thieves. Where people would wonder who they were, and how exactly the admin _knew_ one of them. Where anons would ask him, _what’s it like to be besties with the thieves, anyways?_

_The best,_ he would hypothetically and hopefully answer. Except right now, it really wasn’t. He winced and glanced at the meaningless doodles on his notepaper. Kurusu only spoke to him whenever it was convenient, really. And even then, it was about the latest intel on whose hearts needed stealing. Heck, _Sakamoto,_ who wasn’t even in their _class,_ seemed to be better friends with Kurusu than Mishima was. He sighed. Well, it’s not like he exactly had that much free time, given how many hours he devoted to the Phan-Site. And Kurusu, well, he probably had a lot on his plate, juggling his student-by-day, thief-by-night lifestyle. Not to mention those part-time jobs he’s seen him at.

Maybe it was better if Mishima gave Kurusu space and let _him_ decide when he wanted to hang-out. 

(He stood outside the ramen shop, cold hands stuffed in his winter jacket’s pocket as he waited. The sun started to set, and thick, gray clouds with impending snow loomed in the distance. He sneezed. They would be here soon, he told himself half an hour ago. Probably just running late, he reassured himself fifteen minutes later. The trains must be slow, he convinced himself five minutes prior. A creeping anxiety nibbled at his thoughts, whispering about how this happened _last_ time, too, but it would be different this time. He _knew_ it’d be different. There’s no way they’d forget him again. Still, he pulled out his flip-phone and sent them a reminder message, hoping he didn’t sound _too_ needy.

His phone buzzed ten minutes later, and his stomach dropped: _“Oops sorry we forgot we invited you! We actually already met up two hours ago so that Mitarashi-kun could come. Maybe next time! :)”_

He waited for next time. He waited when the other guys hung around the shoe lockers once the bells of his middle school rung for the concluded day. He waited while they laughed, shoved each other, belittled each other. He waited, while clutching his backpack’s straps, for someone to say, _“Oh, Mishima-kun! What’re you waiting around for? Come with! We’re gonna go blow some steam at the arcade.”_

He watched as they walked by the school gates, rambling about the latest Pokemon game, leaving him behind.

This is fine, he told himself, swallowing hard. Maybe _next-_ next time.)

Actually, scratch that. Mishima glanced at Kurusu and nodded to himself. Today, they’d go and duke it out with the best of ‘em in Shibuya by fighting 2-D monsters for 100 yen a shot. So long as nobody got to him first, of course. Which would be hard, considering he couldn’t just shoot him a text in the middle of class, since Ms. Kawakami jacked his phone. This _sucked._ He planted his free hand against his cheek and sighed.

Oh well. Even though he hated waiting, he would just have to ask later and see.

*

“Kurusu!”

His declaration startled half of the class that lingered about talking to one another. Kurusu, however, remained unfazed. He lifted his head after sliding his bag over his shoulder before turning to Mishima. His lips slightly parted, but no words came out - just a curious look. Mishima cleared his throat and scratched the side of his face.

“Sorry to bother you,” he started, _why am I apologizing, c’mon, be more confident!_ “Are you free today by any chance?”

Kurusu pulled his cellphone out and glanced at it. Then he shook his head. “I don’t have anything going on today right now, no. What’s up? Do you need something?”

“What, do I need an ulterior motive to talk to my friend?” Well, actually, based on literally all other interactions in private they’ve had, it’s always been about forum requests from the Phan-Site, now that he thought about it. But today, that was all going to change, maybe. He nodded. “Um! Do you, like, want to hang out somewhere? Like, today? If it’s not inconvenient or anything. Just fun stuff, no ‘extra-curricular’ activities.”

“Fun stuff,” Kurusu echoed, as if he just bore witness to the birth of some alternate-reality. 

“Yeah, you know.” He began to sweat. He doesn’t even really know if Kurusu _likes_ video games or not. What _does_ he like? Other than saving Japan one injustice at a time. Crap, he really didn’t this through. Don’t panic, deep breaths. “Like pew-pewing in the Shibuya arcade? Getting fruit drinks? Hitting up a cafe on the way home? Normal people things.”

Kurusu blinked once. Then twice. “I didn’t know you were capable of going out and having fun that _didn’t_ involve you-know-what.” He cracked a small grin and pushed up his glasses. “But it sounds fun. I’m game. I’ve got to stop back at my place to drop some things off first, but I’ll meet you there.” He paused, grin faltering for a moment into a look of concern. “I mean it,” he added. “Don’t look so tense, man. See you in an hour or so?”

Mishima let go of the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Yeah,” he replied, giving a sheepish laugh. “In an hour.”

*

It took only twenty minutes, all in all. Mishima refrained from showing just how _relieved_ he felt once he saw Kurusu round the corner, his shaggy mug recognizable practically anywhere in a crowd. His bag appeared lighter - maybe he went to drop off the cat. Mishima stood on his tiptoes and waved to get his attention. This was actually happening. Despite all the evidence proving this was reality, he still couldn’t believe it. Hanging-out with a member of the Phantom Thieves, huh. He rocked back and forth on his feet as Kurusu navigated through the crowd with ease. 

“Hey. Managed to catch the train before it left somehow.” He sounded as composed as ever, with relaxed shoulders and a distinct air of confidence. He glanced at the flashy building behind them tucked away in the darker corners of Shibuya and rubbed the back of his neck. “This the place?”

Mishima nodded. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s got a good selection on games. If you don’t know how to play, I can teach you. I used to come here all the time back in the day. It’s easy to sink a couple thousand yen when you don’t have any friends other than ones made of pixels.” He laughed, but Kurusu didn’t laugh with him. He let it die off with an awkward hiccup. “Anyways. Wanna head in?”

The afternoon crowd seemed a bit older than Mishima remembered, but it wasn’t a total wash. Some girls, roughly their age, captivated a small audience with their DDR face-off, feet stomping on those tiles as though their lives depended on it. That took some stamina that Mishima couldn’t even dare to dream about having. Off to the side, the newest shooter, _Mech Man Chronicles X,_ beckoned them to test their luck against the evil Dr. Nefarious and his cronies. Kurusu watched the cinematic a few times over before pointing to it. 

“This one.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Mishima learned three things upon sliding the yen into the coin-slots and picking up the fake-gun. One, Kurusu’s entire demeanor changed, as if the air itself stilled in anticipation as a cocky smirk stretched his lips. Two, Kurusu’s deft hands handled a gun with such ease that it could not have been his first time handling one. Three, Mishima could barely keep up in terms of score as they duked it out against the Mechons. The sound-effects of Mechons blasting into little bits almost overwhelmed the other sounds in the building as Kurusu point, clicked, point, clicked, bang bang banged his way through the third level.

“Holy crap.” Mishima sputtered in awe as he reloaded. “What are you, some kind of arcade _god?”_

“I’ve gotten some tips from the _actual_ arcade genius. Besides,” Kurusu rolled one shoulder, and then the other, “you’re not the only one who spent a lot of time playing video games when they were younger.”

Oh. Kurusu’s past, huh? Mishima’s eyes darted from one enemy to another, almost missing a shot. “Yeah? Dang it, get back _over_ here, you stupid thing--crap--but you seem, I don’t know, more like the active-type to me.”

“Did you see me signing up for volleyball when I arrived?”

Good point. Mishima winced. “I’m glad you didn’t, though.” God, he could only imagine just how much shit Kamoshida would’ve put Kurusu through all while saying he _deserved_ it because of his criminal record. 

The sickly neon-yellow LEVEL CLEARED! popped onto the screen with glorious fanfare. Kurusu tried to brush his bangs out of the way, but to little avail. 

“I wasn’t a huge team-player growing up, to be honest.” A fresh batch of Mechons, coated in rust, lumbered towards them in droves. Kurusu aimed at the largest one with bulging eyes and fired, causing the poor gargantuan creature to blow-up in a spectacular rainbow explosion. “I was part of the ‘going home’ club. Plus, my parents…”

Bullet holes riddled the screen from a submachine gun-base Mechon on Kurusu’s side, and the display tinted red. He clicked his tongue and scowled as the GAME OVER appeared. Mishima lowered his gun, sneaking a glance at his partner-in-crime.

“Your parents?”

“C’mon.” Kurusu placed the gun back into its slot before jabbing a thumb at the DDR machine. “It’s finally free.”

“Huh? Wait. Wait, don’t tell me we’re--Kurusu!” He stumbled after him, approaching the deceptive fun colors and promises of a good time disguising the never-ending pain that awaited each and every muscle in his tiny body. But Kurusu, with an iron grip around Mishima’s wrist, seemed uncharacteristically desperate to change the subject. Something must have happened between him and his family, then. Curiosity nagged at Mishima’s _desire_ to investigate, but that would violate Kurusu’s privacy. The last thing he wanted to do was break the tentative trust forming between them.

So instead, he pushed the urge to find out more aside in favor of almost tearing a ligament or ten to the fan-favorite _Butterfly._ And of _course_ he looked like a complete idiot next to Kurusu, but thankfully no one else from their school watched his terrible display of gracefulness. Just, you know, actual _cute_ girls from Tokyo giggling at him as he broke his ass on the tiles. But that didn’t necessarily matter, in the end; Kurusu’s exhausted laughter whenever Mishima pulled off a dorky move made the experience totally worth it. Sure, he lost _every round,_ but what did he expect, facing-off against a _Phantom Thief?_

“Five to nothing,” Kurusu said, slipping his glasses back on. His usually-fluffy bangs clung to his damp forehead. “Looks like I’ve still got it. Guess that means you’re paying for dinner, though. I’m in the mood for steak.”

Mishima almost spat out the water that the enraptured staff ever-so-kindly provided him. “ _Wh--_ I never agreed to that!”

Kurusu hummed in thought, “And maybe some cake afterwards, too.”

“H-hey! You’ve got to have mercy on my wallet, please!”

Mishima still wound up paying for it all, in the end. Yet by the time he arrived back home, where his mom asked, _where have you been?_ , all he could do was grin, despite having lost a good chunk of funds.

“Out with a friend,” he replied, and the tingling warmth that started in his toes didn’t go entirely unnoticed.

*

**Posted 3:44AM, xXxDingoxXx:**

>No but really that new Iwasaki guy in all the latest TV ads is such a tool, something should be done about him ASAP b4 he does anything else stupid to jeopardize other actors. I mean do you see the way he looks at Kiki-chan?? Deeeeeeeeeefinitely somethng shady going on lol

**Posted 4:20AM, KryptoNight:**

>dude i kno rite?? p-thieves should totally knock him down a peg, he’s such an asshole waiting to be ripped apart. bet he’s forcing k-chan to date him. no idol like her wood ever hang out w a guy like him ewwwwwww :P

**Posted 5:07AM, jinglehell:**

>hes not that bad wtf ur all just jelly cuz hes got $$$ and ur all poor fucks with no gfs

Mishima laid on his side under a mound of blankets while scrolling through the post he found earlier (before Ms. Kawakami chewed him out in class, and here he thought he had some levels in being discreet). The latest poll numbers indicated that the Phantom Thieves needed _something_ to give them more credibility. Sure, taking down the famous artist Madarame sparked a huge interest in the forums, but the YES-count for people believing in their justice was still _way_ too low. Taking down petty bullies or evil sadomasochistic girlfriends could only get them so far. Mishima wanted-- _needed_ \--people to see just what the thieves were capable of. 

But this actor was still small-time. His resume gloated about a variety of minor roles in film or TV series, but it was nothing special. However, because of his charming face, he accumulated a die-hard fanbase, if Twitter users screaming _OMG OMG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH_ told Mishima anything. Since he was such small-fry, Mishima wondered if it would even be worth it to dig deeper; they needed _big_ targets, not easy-peasy petty criminals. At the same time, though, this might lead into something huge. What if the Japanese Actor’s Association protected pretty-but-cruel faces just for the sake of money? What if it revealed the dirty underbelly of an industry’s nasty refusals to comply with the law and allowed popular performers to get away with _murder?_ The press would be in uproar for weeks. There would be no way for them to ignore the Phantom Thieves.

_And it’d all be thanks to_ me _and_ my _intel._

He minimized the collected tabs about this “Iwasaki” before rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. His body began to ache. Tomorrow was gonna _suck._ He draped an arm over his closed eyes, tiredness settling into his protesting muscles, before biting his bottom lip. What sort of impulsivity prompted him to just demand Kurusu’s time like that, especially _after_ trying to avoid any unnecessary contact a little while ago? It wasn’t even for the Phan-Site or anything. He groaned and grabbed his pillow, hugging it close to his chest. No. No, that woman was still one-hundred-and-ten percent wrong. He couldn’t believe how that thought still _bugged_ him. No, he just wanted to be closer to Kurusu, and not like _that._ No way. What happened earlier wasn’t even a _date._ Who wouldn’t want to chill with a guy like that?

Someone _cool_ like that. Someone with _purpose_ and _vindication_ like that. 

Enough, enough. He squeezed his eyes shut. If he thought too hard, if he bothered to listen to the darkness that whispered in his ear to think about what’s happening, then he might stumble onto something about himself he doesn’t want to admit. Instead, he settled on daydreaming vibrant scenarios in which _he_ was a hero for once, in a reality where everyone knew his name like the Phantom Thieves. 

Admin Mishima Yuuki, Ally of Justice.

_Lame._ He’d need to come up with a cooler name than that before they all got famous.

Until then, though, he would have to bring his A-game in uncovering the ugly truths surrounding this Iwasaki character. He could only imagine the look on Kurusu’s face when he gave him such information brimming with potential - the _smirk_ of approval around Mishima’s hard work and dedication for the team. The idea made him squeal with glee. If he played his cards right, maybe, just _maybe,_ he would get to meet the rest of them and become a more active team-member. Somehow. Maybe.

When he finally dozed off, he dreamed in reds and blacks, in twisted and distorted worlds, where he could only catch glimpses of masks and gangly, moving creatures that whispered, _don’t get your pathetic hopes up, kiddo._


	4. upside-down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s gotten to the point in the fic where i am just hoping to the blessed gods above/below that like none of y’all realize i ain’t got a gosh diddly darn clue about where the heckaroni this fic is going aside from certain points i wanna hit eventually and as such if the quality deteriorates i deeply, deeply apologize. altho that is kind of a low bar int he first place huh lol. also thank u for all the comments, i’m amazed y’all are enjoying it this far. pls feel free to tell me what u think! now lets continue the “mishima u fool: the fanfic” (DID YOU KNOW THERES 11 FANFICS WITH THE TAG “MISHIMA YUKI” IN IT. ELEVEN. THATS IT. WHAT THE HELL. PLS HELP ME I CANT SUPPORT THIS BOI MYSELF)

A little past midnight, Mishima barely noticed the repetitive “pinging” sound from one of his many tabs opened in his internet browser as he listened to some loud, crashing music. He frowned, muted the song, and tried closing a few windows to get rid of it, cursor hovering over the well-beloved Phan-Site before doing a double-take and realizing what was going on. He left the “new post” alert turned on. But so many? He slipped off his headphones and swung his legs over the bed. Before investigating, he needed snacks, and maybe some fruit juice, too. Couldn’t do good detective work on an empty stomach, after all. Maybe someone was spamming a bunch of crap again. Why did the losers with nothing better to do always come out and do insufferable crap after everyone should be asleep?

He shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing upon hearing the dull noise of the television. His dad, still wearing his work uniform, sat slumped on the couch with an opened beer on the nearby coffee table. He glanced at Mishima, rubbed at his nose, and then resumed watching the television. Mishima bowed his head and kept walking, unable to make eye-contact. Even still, the weight of their argument back in April tainted every interaction between them; Mishima could count the amount of unforced conversations they had on one hand. He opened the fridge and picked up one of those fancy-looking drinks his mom told him to drink for her.

_“And now, onto our latest batch of breaking news: a prime suspect in the mafia-ring investigations has apparently been apprehended, and is in police custody. This is shortly after the emergence of calling cards dispatched all throughout Shibuya…”_

Mishima jerked to stand so fast that he banged his head on the top of the fridge. He groaned, cursing his awful luck, before paying more attention. The Phantom Thieves took down _who_ now? A suspect in the _mafia?_ Like, the actual, _legit_ mafia? He twisted open his drink before moving closer to the TV.

_“The name of the suspect has been withheld, but sources say, based on these cards, that it is Kaneshiro Junya. It seems that shortly after the calling card’s appearance, he has turned himself in…”_

“Those stupid punks have been everywhere lately,” his dad grumbled, taking a swig of his beer. “At work, that’s all anyone’s talking about. ‘Ooh, didja hear ‘bout them Phantom Thieves?’ Ugh. Who the hell do they think they are, doing the police’s job? Not that the detective or whatever’s any better. Juveniles playing justice. Absolutely stupid. There’s no such thing as ‘justice’ no more. They should just learn their place, suck it up, and deal with it.” He grabbed the remote and changed the channel, where some talking mascot bear and a catchy jingle promoted some weird chain store. 

Mishima swallowed his counter-arguments - _what do you know about justice, anyways, Dad? You just sat there and told me to endure everything, and it was ‘juveniles’ who bailed me out of that hell while you just... -_ before going back into the kitchen and swiping some food. Neither spoke to another as he went back to his room.

His father aside, he needed to get back to business. He closed the bedroom door with his foot, balancing his drink and snacks in his arms, before making his way back to the laptop. The forum’s popularity question refreshed, and the YES’s began to make a dent in the onslaught of naysayers. He rubbed at his eyes - was this really happening? People were finally acknowledging them? 

> _go p-thieves!!_

> _i believed in them the whole time!!1!_

> _No idea what they want, so NO_

> _suck it, kaneshiro!_

> _LMAO THEYRE ACTUALLY REAL???_

Holy crap, site activity jumped about two-hundred percent. The forums would be overloaded at this point, swarming with stupidity that would tarnish the Phantom Thieves’s image. He needed a way to cull them out, bit by bit, even if it meant an abuse of power. If it’s for the greater good, is it really an abuse, though? He should know what that means, given his past, but that was unjustified. This was something completely different. Kurusu especially wouldn’t appreciate the negative light, given his reputation of being _that_ transfer student. Being the PR manager meant having to fight fire with fire sometimes.

He would find a way to uncover the asshole anons some other time. For now, as he plucked out the hate and spam, he had to play damage-control. He sipped his drink (strawberry, how did his mom remember that he liked strawberry) and scoured each and every topic, subtopic, and post until his hands ached for respite. He could only imagine how the Phantom Thieves felt, recovering from taking down the _freaking mafia._

Oh, Kurusu. He glanced at his phone and scooped it up, ready to text him some kind of “congratulations” or “good job,” but everything he typed out sounded phony and insincere. Frustrated, he put aside the phone and flopped back onto the futon, almost pouting. He had to say something, right? Encouragement, maybe?

Instead, after reclaiming the phone, he sent, _Hey! How are you doing? Heard you took down a leader of the mafia. Is that true?_

It took all of five minutes for Kurusu to respond: _do you have ANY idea what time it is_

**Mishima:** Oh, sorry! I forgot people are usually asleep by now. 

**Kurusu:** sfine I got to feed the stupid cat anyhow

**Kurusu:** ‘nya feed me nya’ does he think he’s cute it’s not cute at all I just want to sleep

**Kurusu:** how did you find out already

**Mishima:** It was on the news. And the Phan-Site’s gotten super popular! Requests keep coming in, so I’ll make sure to send them your way once I find one worth your time.

**Mishima:** But you guys took down a mafia leader. Are you sure there’s not going to be backlash for that?

**Kurusu:** pffff as if they can even find us. not even the police can right now. we’ll be fine on our end, don’t worry

**Kurusu:** you’re in more danger than us anyhow mr. admin since I bet they can trace you from your website.

**Mishima:** That’s not really funny.

**Kurusu:** wasn’t trying to be. then again we did take down a high status leader so I bet they’d be too wary to try anything

**Mishima:** You know, you’re a completely different person when you’re tired.

**Kurusu:** I took down the mafia today will you cut me some slack

**Kurusu:** my ‘give a shit’ meter is at an all-time low

**Kurusu:** hey can cats eat curry

**Mishima:** Aren’t you supposed to be smarter than me? 

**Kurusu:** oh mighty mishima-sama please bestow unto me your infinite google-powers and answer my inquiry, for I am too lazy to do it myself

**Mishima:** Google it yourself!

**Kurusu:** why you probably have a computer right there and I don’t so do me a solid won’t you. you woke me up so you owe me one

**Mishima:** You literally have Google on your phone.

**Mishima:** It’s installed in literally every phone in Japan.

**Kurusu:** I’m a criminal remember what if they think I’m trying to poison my cat

**Mishima:** Remind me to never text you this late ever again.

>Google search: can cats eat curry

**Mishima:** Sources say no, maybe.

**Kurusu:** what if it’s a talking cat claiming to be human

**Mishima:** Go to bed, Kurusu.

**Kurusu:** my cat says you’re easy to pick on

**Mishima:** GoodNIGHT, Kurusu.

**Kurusu:** hey

**Kurusu:** I just thought of a good joke

**Mishima:** I don’t think I’ve ever seen you text so much in our three months of knowing each other. Are you sick or something?

**Kurusu:** what do you call it when two cats are communicating over the internet

**Kurusu:** instant MEOW-ssaging

**Mishima:** KURUSU

**Kurusu:** I’m hilarious

**Mishima:** You misspelled ‘delirious.’ 

**Kurusu:** I can feel my charm levels ranking up to suave. think I can convince a doctor to talk to me about her problems now?

**Mishima:** Bye. I’ll text you if anything comes up on my end.

**Kurusu:** but what about our bond mishima I feel like we can become closer soon

Mishima ignored the subsequent buzzes from his phone. That happened. Okay. Kurusu apparently had a wise-guy streak in him. He made a mental-note to text him during the day from now, even though tired-Kurusu proved to be kinda funny. Mishima couldn’t quite get rid of the grin now stuck to his face, despite the impending dire circumstances he needed to come to terms with. How many others got to see that Kurusu and not the stoic, silent one with the attitude exuding “cool” from every cell in his body? How many knew this student by day, thief by night guy was actually a _dork?_

Crap. He slapped his own cheeks and shook his head. He needed to double-down and focus, not to get distracted by a Phantom Thief and his pet cat. The idea of a pissed-off mafia worried him; what if they _did_ find out where he lived? What if they wanted to hurt him and his family? He bit his thumbnail and opened a new tab.

>imsgr . jpn/chat/room2C

_> mishimishi00 has entered the chatroom._

mishimishi00: anyone awake

avd: tragically. what’s up mishmash

tronbone: Heyyyyyyyy Mishiiiiiiiiiii~! :O

mishimishi00: welcome back tronbone how was ur vacation

mishimishi00: listen I know this is gonna sound weird but I need something to protect myself

tronbone: It was A-MA-ZING! Check out these pics yo I ate so much food [img attached: jK898.jpeg] [img attached: jK899.jpeg]

avd: dude wtf u doing that u need somthing like that

tronbone: Wait, protect yourself? What’s going on D:

mishimishi00: just in case haha!! like say if i happened to unintentionally get involved with the mafia

mishimishi00: oh wow can u share tron all I got are stale potato chips

avd: arent u in hischool

avd: what r u doing geting involved w the YAKUZA man

tronbone: If I knew where you lived I totally would~! ;)

tronbone: also don’t pick fights with the mafia! Silly!! Even I know that!!

avd: how srs we talkin here

mishimishi00: can you all keep a secret

avd: not like anybod cares wut u say in a noname messenger mishi

tronbone: Sure~!

mishimishi00: i kinda help run the phansite. and they just kinda took down some guy named kaneshiro [link sent: japantimes . jpn / article / mafia-boss-taken-down-by-thieves/070920XX]

avd: oh man we already knew u ran it after u asked for coding help lol. we aint dumb

tronbone: The Phantom Thieves? I’ve been gone for too long, who are they??

avd: but hmm u got a point if they found u ran the site they cud ‘ask u questions’

avd: aka beat the shit out of u for info on them theeves

mishimishi00: [link sent: phan-site . jpn / about] here tron u can read up on them

avd: isnt ther a place in shibuya that seels hyperreal guns

tronbone: OHHHH UNTOUCHABLE! Yeah, that place is SOOOO sketchy, but such good quality stuff for enthusiasts! :O

tronbone: I was in the military for some time, and even some of Iwai-san’s replicas are SUPER realistic! ^o^

avd: yea thats the one u shud try it out

mishimishi00: in shibuya?? ill see if theyre open tomorrow then

mishimishi00: thanks guys. goodnight

avd: dont get urself killed mishi, someones gotta site to run lol

tronbone: Wow! These Phantom Thieves look SUPER cool!! O_o I wonder if they’ll help me out too if I put in a request.

tronbone: be safe Mishi!

*

(A dream: it’s a twisted labyrinth infested with lumbering giants composed of many faces, gazes fixated on nothing, skin shifting or peeling or _something_ with bones cracking and shrieks filling the otherwise expanding void. there’s people standing near the edge of what looks to be a subway station, hollow-faced and slow-moving as a train screeches to a stop before them. where does it go, he asks aloud, and a hollow-faced man turns so fast his neck nearly snaps, jaw unhinging as unrecognizable static bellows from the depths of his stomach, a wretched and inhumane cry trying to silence all questions. he jerks back, afraid, but the crowd is moving forward now, moving into the cart, as if unaware of their hideous transformations, as if blind to the dents and cracks littering the outer frame of the train, as if compelled to neglect the grotesque scent wafting around them. he tries to step back, and it becomes a step forward, step step _step,_ and he’s pressed against the window, cheek mashed against the goopy-feeling glass, as more bodies pile in, more of the blind masses take their place in this train to nowhere. he tries to move, and he can’t; all he can do is stop breathing the moment the train squeaks and charges forth into the dark unknown with his reflection staring back at him in the shadows, eyes yellowed and grin stretching wider than it should be able to, and that’s when he notices how sharp his fingernails look, how pale his skin appears, how _different_ but the _same_ he is and he has become, where are we going, he asks again in a warbling voice, and this time nobody answers, because nobody either knows or cares.

The dream’s gone by the time the alarm blared, with only a cold sweat to remember it by.)

*

The pseudo-gun shop resided in some desolate alley, displaying a hideous neon-green sign that probably drove away more customers than it did attract them. Mishima stiffened his resolve, fist clenching by his side, before strutting into the joint as if he belonged there (he definitely didn’t belong here holy _crap_ why did tronbone suggest this he’s gonna die _faster_ this way). A heavy, dark atmosphere oozed from the corners of the store, drenching the rest of it in saturated hues, even though it was nice and sunny right outside the door. He gulped. Just what kinda place was this?

The guy behind the counter glanced - or glared, holy crap, those eyes looked like they could scalp Mishima and use his body as a warning for others to keep out - at Mishima, stick in his mouth flicking upward. He frowned before turning a page of his magazine, feet carelessly resting on the countertop. He evidently couldn’t give less of a damn who Mishima was or why he was there. Well, at the very least, Mishima might not turn up in the news as a dead body today. It’s the little victories in life.

Guns of all kinds hung in display cases along the walls, price-tags asking for money Mishima could only dream about having. Besides, they were _huge,_ and he wanted something a little more manageable, a little small to keep secret in his room. God, if his mother found it, he would be in deep trouble. He scurried to the back of the store, where the pistol-models showed a much lower price. Some of them appeared comedic - no way anyone would buy that they were real - but at the end of the row rested a _lifelike_ one. 

“What’s with kids these days,” the guy behind the counter mused aloud, “comin’ in here? Same uniform and everything, too. Don’t tell me you’re gonna try to sell me weird stuff while you’re at it.”

Mishima turned, almost in slow-motion, while letting out a sheepish laugh. “What? No! I’m just, you know.” He averted his eyes. Come on, he needed to say _something,_ or else this guy will probably kick him out for being suspicious. “I wanted to buy one to protect myself?”

The store owner crunched down something that sounded like hard candy with a cocked head and a piqued expression. “‘Scuse me? Some scrawny kid needs ‘protection’ for somethin’?”

Oh, double-crap. “Y… yes? No. Yes, definitely. Please trust me?”

Owner made a faint humming noise before bending down and replacing his finished lollipop with a new one. “I don’t really care. Forget I asked anythin’. But really, what’s goin’ on with you Shujin Academy students, buyin’ my store out? Some kid your age bought half my stock. At this rate, the _real_ enthusiasts won’t have nothin’ to purchase. Just don’t be usin’ it for a prank, okay?”

Mishima nodded. What a weird guy. The other student had to be one of the Phantom Thieves, right? He couldn’t think of anyone else who would just buy guns for no apparent reason. The model pistol sucked up most of his funds, but it felt right in his hands - a good weight, a solid construction. No mafia member would expect a high schooler to have gotten his hands on a gun. (Nor any disproportionate hater of the Phantom Thieves.)

“Hey, kid.”

He stopped with one hand on the doorknob, one hand carrying his school bag that hid the newly-purchased not-weapon in one pocket. Owner cracked his own neck one way, then the other.

“If you _are_ in trouble,” he said, “call on those Phantom Thieves everyone’s on about. They’re more reliable than they seem. Sure, a fake gun’ll get you far, but they’re the real-deal. Just a thought.”

He sounded as though he spoke from experience, as if this scary-guy, too, sought the assistance of the thieves. Mishima stared for a long moment, wondering what it could have been that this guy requested for, and then lowered his head. “Thank you.”

“Makes you wonder, though.” Owner gazed up towards the ceiling, magazine crinkling in his lap. “When shit hits the fan, who’s gonna help them? Just hope they know what they’re gettin’ into and they got someone to rely on.” He sighed and shook his head. Then he glanced at Mishima. “Hah? What’re you lookin’ at? If you’re done, get outta here, kid. I got a shop to run.”

“Oh! Sorry, uh. Thank you again!”

The door slammed shut behind the hurried Mishima, but not before he heard a, “Good luck, kid.”

Mishima bent over and rested his upper-body weight upon his knees, wheezing. That was more harrowing and taxing on his nerves than he would have liked. He peeked in his bag - the gun was still there - and let out a sigh of relief. He did it. Now he has _some_ way to defend himself instead of being a sitting duck. The rest of the Phantom Thieves probably had ways to protect themselves already. Why didn’t he think of this sooner? Who would manage the site and give them intel if he died?

He shuddered. Well, hopefully, he wouldn’t die anytime soon. Not now, at any rate, when things were just starting to get good.

Shibuya’s skies tinted orange overhead, large, imposing clouds blanketing the city, trapping the summertime heat. He fanned himself with his free hand, wondering when the cicadas would come out and swarm like the anons on his site. He _really_ needed to do something about that. 

But first. He stepped out of the alley, attention focused on his phone. The thread complaining about the actor had more posts, with copious amounts of information leaking through the seams. A full name, his data - his possible crime against humanity, too. After nailing a mafia boss, what better way to escalate their namesake by striking down a corrupt actor? He could picture it now: the forums bleating with praise, hailing the Phantom Thieves as heroes, alongside the site’s admin. The haters skulking in a corner. The world paying attention to these nobodies who made a name for themselves.

Brilliant. He grinned to himself. Absolutely brilliant. He really was getting _good_ at this. He’d have to let Kurusu know soon about their next target soon, even if it was still vague and important details were missing. But who cared, the guy _had_ to be awful. He wasn’t going to give up on this now, not when he came this far. This was _their_ time.

After exams, though. Since Kurusu was a student, the rest of the Phantom Thieves probably were, too. A break between the action for a week or two, just to get the _right_ amount of hype. Then, the Phantom Thieves would be famous. Flawless perfection, with no way to fail.

He stepped onto the train, a reignited enthusiasm burning beneath his flesh. _Don’t you see what I’m doing for all of you, Kurusu? Just you wait. Just you wait…_

For the briefest of moments, as he glanced out the window, he thought he saw something golden stare back at him. He blinked, then discarded the thought immediately; his mother always told him he had quite the active imagination. After all, it was just his own, same old boring face, though now, it glimmered with a newfound confidence he never thought he’d find in his once-believed inconsequential lifetime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come screm at me bout purse-owner knife on twitter @pittoodlenoodle if u wanna [finger-guns]


	5. in moderation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may be asking yourself, “when is this writer gonna realize he’s getting a lil slow with the action and the romance and the dramas,” and to that i say, behold, it’s chapter five, and you’re gonna be seriously disappointed in either me or mishi-boy here. a huge thank you to those who keep leaving kudos and comments - i really, really need the motivation to keep writing bc i am a Sad Mofo so. anyways here’s chapter five, feat. bad decisions. lemme know what you think!!

_“If you guys don’t cut it out,”_ Mishima typed, smug grin on his face, _“you’re next._ ”

Aaaaand send. The messages dispersed, blipping out of sight and into the offenders’ e-mail accounts. He stretched his arms high above his head, yawning. Since deciding to take a more direct approach, the spamming and malicious content reduced by at least forty-percent. What idiots thought that they could get away with inhibiting righteous justice in such dumb ways? Not only was it unhelpful, it simply proved the absolute stupidity that infected these assholes. He collected a list of e-mails and their names, personal information, and any other material deemed necessary for the sake of his impending purge. If possible, the Phantom Thieves could just change their hearts in one-go, making his life _much_ easier (and theirs, too, of course). But such scum could wait until a later time. He saved the document to the folder labeled _admin ph_ before opening another. Right now, an actor stood in an unwanted spotlight, sins laid bare in front of Mishima’s eyes in black and white. 

He cracked his knuckles. Changed the dull song to something more upbeat. Outside, rain pattered against the parapets and windows, vanquishing the heatwave for a brief respite. Yet summer brought something much more promising in the wake of tests upon tests this past week: vacation. Sure, he forewent studying for the sake of the Phan-Site, but some sacrifices were inevitable. And yeah, most of the questions on the tests read like encrypted data locked behind too many passwords, but he didn’t care. His parents were already disappointed in him, how much more damage could he cause to his future?

A scowl tarnished his features upon hearing a door nearby open and close with a heaving sigh. Speak of the devil. _Dad._ Just when he wanted to restock on snacks, too. He minimized the document and skulked over to the bedroom door, listening. A spitting beer can, a muffled TV going through the news. Another sigh. Must’ve been a long day at work, seeing as how they keep making Dad work extra late-night shifts due to staffing cuts. Mishima waited for a moment longer, just so Dad would settle in more and not want to talk, before stepping out of his room.

He looked awful, Dad did. The tie dangled around his neck, half-way unraveled, but unfinished out of sheer laziness or exhaustion. His eyes stared dully at the screen, barely paying attention as Mishima shuffled on by. The rotund leather bag leaned against the sofa, bulging with paperwork and whatever else. He almost paused - almost stopped to ask how he was - but then he remembered he didn’t care. Not really. 

(“Please talk to your father,” his mother said over dinner time and time again. “For me?”)

Mishima clicked his tongue and closed the fridge, venture unfruitful. Maybe the pantry, then; there had to be something to munch on. 

“Yuuki.”

Mishima’s fingers twitched, stopping before snatching a hidden box of chocolate. He tried to compose his face into the most-neutral expression he could muster in spite of his heightened, sensitive nerves. “Yeah.”

The TV softened in volume a few notches. “Summer vacation’s soon, isn’t it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence. Mishima contemplated just taking the box and heading back, but an unfamiliar weight in the pit of his stomach pulled him down, pressuring his feet to refuse to budge. He waited, he wanted (wanted what, the million-yen question, but any answer scattered from his mind like cockroaches exposed to daylight). Dad picked up his beer and brought it to his lips, but didn’t drink. Instead, he set it back down, leaned forward, and shook his head.

“Your mother wants to go somewhere for a day-trip together, as a family. Did you have any preferences?”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Yuuki.”

“Let me rephrase that.” Mishima shoved the box into his too-small pockets. “I’m not going. ‘Night.”

Dad muted the TV and rose to his feet, stepping directly in front of Mishima’s escape-route back to his bedroom. “We need to talk.”

Thunder growled, then roared, and the rain lashed with bursts of gusting winds. Mishima folded his arms across his chest, neutral-expression faltering from a twitch of his upper lip. Many responses flitted through his head - _do we now, it’s funny how you say this after everything that’s happened, so now you decide it’s a good time to listen to me, leave me be -_ but he settled on, “Oh?” Simple, sweet. Dad rubbed the back of his balding head.

“I know I’ve let you down.”

He didn’t want to hear this. Not now. Not when it was much too late. “I need to go to bed, Dad. Exams, remember?”

“How long do you intend to…” Dad trailed off, but the unspoken question still rung clear in Mishima’s ears. He looked down as he brushed by his father, cringing as their arms touched. He didn’t bother dignifying it with an answer. Behind him, his father muttered, “Fine. I’ll let your mother know, but please reconsider, at least for her sake. Goodnight, Yuuki.”

The door closed much harder than Mishima intended, shuddering with such force akin to Kamoshida’s signature spike reverberating off the solid concrete walls of the gymnasium. His eyes stung, welling up with tears, before swallowing down a sickening bile building up in his throat. He knew, he knew how stupid this panned out to be, but what could he do? Ever since the big fight, it hadn’t been the same. They couldn’t seem to talk things out the way Mishima wanted - not that he ever gave it much of a chance. 

(“Are you sure you’re not just complaining _again?_ ”)

He blinked rapidly and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. Enough, enough. He had more important and pressing matters to return to. Dad could wait another day. With a heaving sigh, he stepped away from the door and shuffled back to the laptop, the screen darkened from inactivity. He paused, fingertips hovering above the tracking mouse, before closing the laptop entirely. His brain lulled to a crawl. He needed a more adequate distraction.

His restless gaze shifted to his unattended cell phone, half-hidden by the tangled blankets. He swiped it up, scrolling through the different apps (wow, he’d forgotten how many games he saved on there that he no longer played. No wonder why his battery drained so quickly) before settling on just opening his text messages. His contact-list was filled with mostly acquaintances - classmates, former volleyball team members, some girls he thought he would finally meet (but never did). At the top, the conversations between Kurusu and himself capped the mundane “Hellos” and “what was the homework assignment agains.” 

He bit his bottom lip. Hesitated. Glanced at the clock - already inching towards unacceptable-texting-time o’clock. Yet his thumbs danced upon the screen and swatted the “Send” button without his conscious permission. What did he even say? Hopefully nothing stupid, right?

**Mishima:** So when a cat needs a break from a movie, guess what button he presses.

What even. Mishima knew he was terrible at any form of jokes, what with a lacking charisma and somewhat dull personality as his old “friends” put it. He almost sent an “I’m so sorry,” but his phone vibrated before he got the chance.

**Kurusu:** The “paws” button. Classic.

**Mishima:** Sorry, did I interrupt your studying?

**Kurusu:** Oh, totally. I wasn’t definitely just grinding to level 99 in Last Fiction Fifteenth. Can you believe my TV doesn’t even have an HDMI port? I had to buy one, like, off the Internet. Oh. My cat says hello.

**Mishima:** But you’re not playing, so that doesn’t matter anyway, huh?

**Kurusu:** Riiiiight. 

**Kurusu:** What about you? It’s weird that you’re texting me and not talking about requests or anything like that. Looking for a distraction that badly?

**Mishima:** Something like that. 

**Kurusu:** Me too. I think you’re the only friend I have that stays up until stupid o’clock at night, so it’s good to know I’m not alone.

**Kurusu:** In studying, of course. ;)

**Mishima:** Oh my god

**Mishima:** What is that

**Kurusu:** What is what

**Mishima:** That… face thing. Did you just use an EMOJI?

**Kurusu:** Isn’t that what all the hip and cool kids do these days

**Kurusu:** Not that you’d know, since you’re neither #burn

**Mishima:** Remind me why we’re friends again?

**Kurusu:** You kinda shoved your face into my personal space and declared you knew I was a Phantom Thief. So I’m practically being black-mailed into being your friend.

**Mishima:** I already promised I wouldn’t tell anyone!

**Kurusu:** Joking. Relax. If I’m really being black-mailed, then it’s kind of fun.

**Kurusu:** Being your friend, I mean. Sometimes. ;)

Mishima’s skin prickled pink and sucked in a sharp breath. Oh no. He’s definitely not used to this. Kurusu teased a lot, had a sass equivalent to Ms. Kawakami, and somehow remained aloof in-person. But through late-night texting, Kurusu showed a different face. Yes, he still had that joking-streak in him, and didn’t seem to take too much seriously, but it seemed different. Gentler, maybe? More personable? Less seemingly-annoyed? Kind of nice?

Oh, no no no. Mishima bit his thumbnail. New thoughts, new thoughts. Texting, yes, change the subject. He couldn’t think about anything like _that._ He just liked Kurusu’s attention, nothing more, nothing less. Really.

**Mishima:** When you’re not busy, I do have a new target for you.

**Kurusu:** Oh. Cool. 

**Mishima:** Trust me, this one’s definitely worth your while! But let’s wait until after exams. I don’t want to overwhelm you with my findings.

**Kurusu:** Sounds good.

His tone seemed different. Did something change in the last few minutes? Kurusu sounded disinterested, or distracted, or… or maybe irked. Mishima dismissed his thoughts with a quick shake of his head; no, Kurusu _just_ said he liked Mishima ( _as a friend_ , his mind supplied, _“sometimes”_ ), and he needed to have more faith in that. It was late, maybe he was just tired. The nagging in his head persisted, however, as he texted out his response:

**Mishima:** Well, have a good night, then! Good luck tomorrow.

**Kurusu:** You too.

He stared at the screen until it faded to black. Texting Kurusu eased the stubborn, bubbling sadness that ached in Mishima’s chest, that burrowed and nested in his bones to refute any attempt his father tried to make amends. Except now, he had no more distractions. He laid down with a wince, listening to the harsh whispers from memories repeat again, and again, and again, and--

(“You finally have a chance of being a part of something big, and you’re going to throw it away just because of a few _bruises?_ I didn’t know I raised a _coward._ ”)

Again, his phone buzzed. Startled from his reverie, he picked it up. _Kurusu?_

**Kurusu:** What do you call a cat taking a test?

**Mishima:** I don’t know. You’re still up?

**Kurusu:** Not rly but I didn’t wanna forget this while I was still half awake

**Mishima:** ...Then what’s the answer?

**Kurusu:** Silly, cats can’t take human tests. It’s… im-paw-ssible. gnite

He texted him just to tell a stupid joke? He groaned, hiding his smile beneath his phone. What a _dork._

**Mishima:** That’s bad and you should feel bad.

**Mishima:** Night. Again.

_I’m not a coward if I’m friends with a hero, Dad._

*

Being called to any office after school caused Mishima’s whole body to tense in anticipation for a distant nightmare that had long-since been arrested. Ms. Kawakami rustled some paperwork, perpetual scowl somewhat lessened. His hands remained balled up into fists, squeezing the life out of his own thumbs, while he awaited whatever news she called him in there to tell him. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible and take a nap, or catch Kurusu before he left school for the day. Mishima still had that info he needed to give him.

“So.” She turned lazily in her chair, shoes dragging across the floor. “First, congrats on the finishing exams thing. I know it’s been rough for you.” She sighed. “It’s been rough for us teachers, too. Still can’t believe what happened regarding you-know-who. In any case,” she pulled a few pages from a folder, “we’re not here to talk about that. How d’you think you did in lit?”

Oh boy. Mishima managed to force a laugh. “If I’m here, then I’m guessing not so great.”

Ms. Kawakami made a thoughtful noise. “I see. I already helped grade all the tests taken so far, and you’re right. You didn’t do so great in a lot of subjects. Seeing as you keep dozing off during class, that doesn’t surprise me. I’m a pretty bad teacher for letting you do that most of the time, too. Oh well. That said, your grades are still pretty average, and you shouldn’t have any issues going into higher education if you applied yourself, but…” She stifled a yawn, and for a moment, Mishima swore she looked a little bit older, like she was exhausted from carrying the weight of the world. “You know, while you suffered in all other subjects, you scored top marks in lit. Number one in your second-year class.”

What? “Huh?” He’s not in trouble? “Really?”

“Have you ever considered pursuing, say, a career in writing? I’m not really sure if fiction’s your style, but maybe nonfiction would be a good idea. It’d be a waste if you didn’t try it out, you know?”

“Wait, hold on.” His brow furrowed. “Are you sure you didn’t grade the wrong one or something? I don’t even read that much.” _Except for online articles, the news, blog posts, forums… Oh._

“Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are. I looked it over three times.” She rolled her shoulders, grimacing as though they hurt. “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but this is something to be proud of. If you keep on berating yourself and keep demeaning your own strong points, then that’ll just give everyone the ability to walk all over you.” She paused, blinked, and smiled a little. “Pot, kettle, black, huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind that. Look, just give the idea some thought, okay? Maybe you could even write about those Phantom Thieves I hear you prattling on and on about during your lunch breaks. Have some more confidence in your own abilities and yourself. Although,” she turned back to her paperwork, “seeing you lately, it seems like you’re changing a bit. Just make sure to not to go over your own head, yeah? Now skedaddle. You’ve got a summer vacation to get going to. Shoo, shoo. Busy now.”

Mishima shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He’s changed, huh? He still looks the same, other than the fact that his bangs needed to be trimmed, but... “Thanks, Ms. Kawakami.”

“Don’t let me see you ‘til when classes start back up, you hear? Ugh, and could you do me a solid and turn the fan on to its highest setting? I’m gonna die from the heat. Maybe those Phantom Thieves can steal the weather and make it more bearable instead of taking on the mob. Yeesh.”

He left the sweaty Ms. Kawakami and sweltering guidance office in a haze. Top marks in writing, of all things? “Have confidence?” Sure, ever since he started up the Phan-Site, his outlook on his miniscule existence shifted, thinking maybe he could _be_ somebody, make a name for himself, but had it really affected him that much? He didn’t know what to think. Of anyone, Kurusu would probably know if Mishima’s changed or not. But it felt silly, just asking his (best) friend about something as weird as that.

Well, maybe he could just ask casually the next time they meet up for an intel briefing. He could play it off as the heat melting his brain or something if Kurusu thought he was acting strange. More than anything, though, he wanted to hear some reassurance, that, yes, Mishima _grew_ in some way. It’s the least Kurusu could do, anyhow, given how much Mishima’s done for him and the thieves.

But perhaps that was a little much. He needed to give the Phantom Thieves more results to prove he’s worth their time, and that actor ought to do the trick. As he looked around for that familiar mop of hair, it didn’t take long to realize that Kurusu left for the day. He tried to quell his disappointment - they’d surely see each other in Shibuya, given how often they crossed paths in the streets. Hopefully. Or maybe they’d just text about a meeting time whenever Kurusu determined he could tackle it. He pulled out his phone from his pocket as he headed towards the shoe lockers. In the meantime, he could see if anything else big turned up on the Phan-Site.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway. Frowned. One word repeated over and over in many of the latest forums, typically followed by too many question marks. He scratched the side of his head.

_Huh? What the heck is a “Medjed?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i beat the game now, but pls be wary of posting La Spoilers in La Comments for La Other Readers just in case yfeel. thank u!! ^o^


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